


Endless Blood

by Nevermore9



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, Gravity Falls
Genre: Blood, Some Erotic Scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3380240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore9/pseuds/Nevermore9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Prince Of Darkness travels to Gravity Falls cloaked in a shadow of death, a shadow that now looms over the Pines family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crates Of Dirt

The humidity of the night air heated the room like a furnace. The young brunette tossed in the dampness of his bed, sheets clinging to his slick and slippery skin. A sudden gust of wind overtook the boy, chilling the hairs on his body; and causing his person to ascend from the sultry mattress, like out of a coffin. The pacification of darkness seized his light frame with an iron grip, his head lulling back in the tranquilization of his thought, the twilight of his conscious hazed in a watered down dream. The word "enter" slipped from the boy's soft lips, filling the blackness of the air, as if beckoning an unknown force to him.  
Acting on the invitation, a spectral miasma ascended from the rifts of the floorboards, and seeped in from the unbarred bedside window, encircling the youth in a haze of sensual felicity. Phantom hands encompassed the velvety pallidness of the adolescent's flesh, like an incubus, inhaling his scent and feeling the cruor taste of his crimson tongue. The youth's spine arched in the press of the phantasm. A slimy, sandpaper-like form fondled his earlobe. Thick, placid, breath circled his inner ear. Tender lips eased into the crook of his neck, kissing his pulsating vein. An abrupt needlelike pinch sent a quiver of pain through his nerve; a heightnening tension weighed on his neck, sending spurs of strange satisfaction through his being.  
Breath touched his ear, an imposing and hypnotic voice hummed within his skull.  
"I know, what you need." The melody of chimes buzzed in his head.  
"I know, what you want." His ears tingled with the inflection of the hiss.  
"I know, what you're looking for." Auditory senses numbed under the potency of the sharp tongue.  
"This, I can give you." Hearing sundered, ears rang.  
"Come with me." His brain palpitated anesthesia through his bloodstream, numbing his relaxing heart.  
"I know what you need." Words drowned his body, morphing through each sense, touching him, tasting him.  
"Emoc Htiw Em." Murmurs flooded through his nerves, oozing into his bloodstream and paralyzing his adolesent anatomy. His consciousness convulsed into throws of erotic revelry.  
***  
Eyes, bloodshot with the terrors of slumber, flung open with the haste of a snare. The youth raised himself in the bed, back heavy with the restlessness of his nightmares, and skin slick with the persperation of his anxiety. He drew in a stifled breath, allowing his head to clear into the mellow sunlight.  
"You alright, Dip?" The sudden sense of his sister's voice sent the boy's weary eyes darting to the light complexion of Mable's face, already looming in the doorway.  
"Yah." Was the stammered reply. Dipper shook his head, trying to shudder off his lethargy. "I'm just a little tired." He explained.  
Mable flashed an impatient glare, betraying her gluttonous appetite. Dipper groaned, lumbering out of the bed sheets and shuffling past Mable, who eagerly followed him downstairs for a morning meal.  
In the kitchen Gruncle Stan sat mildly, eyelids relaxed and face calmly disinterested in his surroundings; every so often bringing a coffee mug to his lips, slurping, and casually setting it back down again.  
Dipper sat to the right, informally picking at the small pile of eggs gathered on his plate. To the left was situated Mable, vigorously scarfing down fork after forkful of her breakfast.  
Gruncle Stan gradually lifted his head, looking softly at each of the twins. Wanting to smash through the troublesome veil of uncomfortableness he hesitantly spoke. "So how about that weather? Pretty humid out, huh?"  
Dipper nodded in agreement, swallowing a clump of breakfast. "Yah, did you see that fog out?" He exclaimed punctuating with the waving of his fork.  
"No." Mable retorted coarsely.  
Dipper sank into the confines of his chair, flustered, with a blush visible on his cheeks. "Oh, well it must've been my dream then."  
"I had a dream that hamsters took over the WORLD!" Mable blurted out dramatically. "And they made me their queen, and I ruled with an IRON FIST!" She slammed down her clenched hand on the table in emphasis.  
"I had a dream…" Gruncle Stan chimed in "…that my life was as a human being was a complete failure." He put grimly. "I'm still waiting to wake up."  
Mable gave a disconcerted grimace, before changing demeanor and arising from the table with a chipper proclamation. "Well, I'm going to have a syrup drinking contest with Waddles."  
Dipper watched her shove aside her cleared plate in accent of her finishing, as he still meekly pecked at his food. An unusual tingle caused Dipper to scratch the right side of his neck, his nails dug into the irritation, the effect being a sharp twinge of pain. Dipper yelped in reaction to the discomfort. "Aah! What's on my neck?" He questioned no one in particular, consoling the ache with the massaging of his fingers.  
"Dr. Mable's diagnosis…" his sister announced with a false air of seriousness "…mosquito bite." She stated unenthusiastically. "Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to take Waddles outside, and drink some syrup."  
"You sure you want to go outside, Mable?" Dipper asked anxiously. "I thought it was suppose to rain?"  
Mable snorted with amusement at her brother's dimwittedness. "Sky's perfectly clear." She commented, gesturing to the sunbathed window. "Not a cloud in sight."  
"Yah, she's right, Kid, no rain today." Gruncle Stan noted, affirming Mable's statement.  
Dipper flushed with embarrassment, submerging himself deeper in his chair. "My mistake." He squeaked.  
"I'm going outside." Mable asserted, heading toward the frontdoor, before correcting her direction with a statement of "but first I'm gonna go wake Waddles."  
***  
After a lengthy morning shower, Dipper entered his room with soggy hair and moist skin, towel draped around his waist. The boy went to the bed, setting out his usual clothes for the day. An orange shirt rolled around his forearm and was then placed on the mattress, beside a pair of shorts.  
The adolescent's attention was sudden ensnared by an entrancing silhouette, drawing him towards it with a captivating influence. He peered longingly into the mirror at his almost nude body, his figure seeming alien to him, like the personage he inhabited was not his own. Dipper's gaze softened, his head tilted lightly, revealing the full length of his neck; as well as a mark he had failed to notice before, the so called "mosquito bite" that had perturbed him earlier.  
Dipper touched a shy hand to the lancinating penetrations over his jugular. He yelped in agony at the immediate contact of the wound, brain sung with stagnation, knees buckled and the curtain tied about his midsection fell from his hips, unveiling the entirity of his lithe body. Legs burrowed into the ground as the youth's frame was weighed down with a phantom tension. Downcast expiration slithered through Dipper's nape, a forked tongue caressed his ear.  
"I know…what you need."  
An abrubt clap of thunder shook Dipper from his sinister reverie, followed by a bitter shout of "you're a wizard!" on Mable's part.  
Dipper stood confused, his puzzlement barely sinking in before the door gave way to the presence of Mable. She strut into the room, paying no mind to her brother's nudity.  
"You're some kind of sorcerer!" She accused, plotting an aggressive finger on his boney chest. "It was suppose to be clear all day. Now look!" She barked, pushing past her petrified brother and turning her attention to the window, now looming with grim clouds and beleagured by the wail of angry wind. Mable plopped herself down on the bed, chucking a handful of clothing at a flustered, reddening, and severly embarrassed Dipper. He snatched up the clothing, covering his more private regions, and sulked into the bathroom to get dressed.  
***  
Murmurs radiated among the menacing pine trees as an intense cyclone whirred throughout the small wooded town. Jagged branches twisted, shaking off needles to be abducted by the wind, and flurried past ancient columns of harrowed trunks.  
The sky tore open like a charcoal vault, iron clouds surged over foreboding pines, bearing fang-toothed grimaces.  
Dipper sat glum faced at the window watching the storm unfold, rain falling like ash over the shack and transforming the once calm and gentle surrounding into a baleful and shadowed portrait, littered with voracious eyes.  
"Don't look so drab, Dip." Came the comfort of Mable on his shoulder. "Want to play Go Fish with Waddles and me?" She asked cheerily.  
"Mable…" Dipper replied "how can a pig play Go Fish?" He snorted.  
Mable glowered with discontent. "Fine don't play." She blandly said with a roll of her shoulders, commencing to trapse up to her room, before Dipper made her pause.  
"Wait! What's that!" The boy cried, flinging himself out of his chair at the sight of a sooty silhouette flashing through the stygian brush.  
Mable shifted toward the window, giving a glare into the dark and storm-beaten outside. "There's nothing out there! You're seeing things." She snapped harshly, flicking Dipper's temple with her index, then proceeding to stride upstairs, casting a final annoyed scowl towards her brother.  
Dipper spilled back into his chair, frowning in defeat. Eyes met again with the window pane, drizzled with cinder flakes, scanning the dispoiled foilage for some spectral wraith. Dismayed Dipper cast his eyes away, when from the periphery of his vision he caught view of a disturbance in the shadows.  
Newly envigored, Dipper once again he shot up from his seating, double-checking the glass for the figure, and once again he spotted a fierce kindling of embers in the gloom. A pang echoed in his head, entrancing him like the melody of a gentle violin.  
"Come."  
Bolting to the door, Dipper did not halt to procure an umbrella to battle the flooding sky; but instead blew past the door and chased out into the obscurity, sneakers oozing into muck, becoming snared in a trap of mud. Feverish to pursue the enigma in the shade, Dipper kicked off his shoes, discarding them in the sludge, and racing off, damp grass seeping to his feet and sending chills wavering through his bones.  
Lacking footwear and with clothes soaked through, weighing down on Dipper's body and melding to his skin, the boy hounded on. Stumbling forward, almost blindly, crashing through groping branches and fumbling past hollowed bark. Each step Dipper undertook the more battered he became, the more weathered and weighed with cumbersome garb, the more agonizing and torturous each foot became; but at the same time the more his drive increased, pushing him forward.  
Blundering through pronged tree limbs, digging into his skin and scratching at his cloth, Dipper still proceeded. His common thought was muddled down with a stronger presence, calling him forth like an astral hand waving through the crumbling barrens.  
A swift wail permeated the atmosphere, the youth crashed forward before realizing the cry was his own. Hands met with callouse, unforgiving, pavement. The boy's senses were flooded by white as his bent form was bathed in illuminating light. The scraping of rubber on asphalt before a sudden deafening impact rippled through droplets of rain.  
Dipper lifted his head, eyes watering and ears awash with a tremor. Through murky vision he could make out a vehicle indented within a crumpled pine tree, shredded bark and scraps of metal were strewn through the shrubbery. A pungent stench of gasoline tickled the boy's nose. He crawled forward on, bloodied and bruised, hands and knees. A crate, shaken from the automobile, lay off to the side of the road. A crack in the container causing bits of its containments to leak onto the drenched ground, the storage being coal black dirt, thick and earthy, with a peculiar odor of decomposition.


	2. A Taste Of Pacifica

Sullen clouds amassed throughout the sky, sundering down unto the earth below a hailstorm of burning rain. Like fire, every sickened pine tree, ailing branch, and diseased beast became afflicted with the downpour. The winds whirred, fierce and roaring, powerful enough to topple the most vigorous oak. Hearty gusts stressed to carress the paine glass window of Dipper's hospital room, like a violin they sung to him, calling his name with a familiar voice.  
The adolescent lay drained and exasperated on the white-sheeted bed. His flesh unmolested by injury, save for a cast banded around his right leg, while his mind was tormented with the anguish of unfamiliar thoughts. Obscure things that spoke of lust and longing, calling out to his worn ears, begging to be seen by his blackened and fatigued eyes.  
"MASTER!"  
Hurried footsteps scuffed against the perfectly shined white-tiled floors behind the dully brown door. Dipper could only now gaze impassively into hollow air, bearing witness to the feverish cries of a madman's delusive plight.  
A strident wail again pierced the veil of Dipper's conciousness thought, he doubted his hearing, instead believing the shreaks were originating from his own illusion wridden psyche.  
"Master! Enter! Enter, and take me as your child!"  
A rigidity constricted the room and the sense of predatory eyes fixed itself to Dipper.  
The chilled wind, seemingly empowered with a new vitality, raked at the glass of the window. Clawing like wolves to release its presence into Dipper's room. The metaphor of wind to wolf was so prevelant that Dipper could swear he heard the baying of a yearning hound, caught in the frozen rain, right outside his window.  
***  
The gentle churrning of rubber against gravel sounded promptly in Mabel's ear. She peered out the car window, looking over the grim portrait of lightning streak skys, enveloped with a watery curtain of tiny pelting droplets. Her mournful glance turned on Gruncle Stan, who sat ahead of her dripping with an atmosphere of dismal sorrow, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel with restless uncertainty. Mable averted her eyes in favor of placing her worriment elsewhere; but it was impossible, a sobbing despair wreched her gut. She wanted to turn on her great uncle, shout, beg, plead for him to drive faster, quicker, hasten to the hospital, to her brother; but words into a dread silence, neither wanted to turn their focus away from Dipper to so much as speak a sentence. Even so, as thunderous discord and disarray paraded from pines to heavens, Mable quietly prayed for the boundless drive to be forever unending, out of fear that when they arrived Dipper would be but a fading corpse.  
Similarly, on a vaguely different road, a young girl too sat in a rolling car; both with the same boy apparent in their thoughts. The blonde was still, seated in her dark black limo, washed against the shadows of the merciless night, unforgiving in its darkness and stormed wrath. She was wallowed with impatience, while under normal circumstances, the girl would have barked for her driver to quicken his pace; but as of the moment she was severely troubled with the pain of remorse.  
In the crook between gnarled branches, bending in swirls of hunger, and a flushed moon, pale with thirst, the tips of ancient rafters bordered around a gothic stone building were made visible. The vehicle winding round a curved and meandering road, sped past a sign implanted in prying grass curled about the legs. The logo, reading "Gravity Falls Medical Center", seemed far more recently installed than the facility itself. Leading to believe the building was not always called so.  
The limousine halted at the back entrance of the gothic hospital, round about the corner stone of the parking lot. The entryway there served as a station for employees; but in this case was being used for matters of discretion. Pacifica could only quietly dread what people would think, much less what her parents would do, if she was worried about some common pauper hit by a truck. The image burned in her mind, filling her lungs with poignancy until she was drowning in heartbrake, it was miracle she didn't burst into a fit of tears. Poor Dipper flying over the hood of some recklessly driven, raggamuffin, automobile, at least that's what she had read.  
Pacifica's purple umbrella flashed among the rain, the soft thumping of the hail audible for every step her likewise purple heels took out into the soggy mud. She hadn't even noticed her usual urge to fling herself into a frenzied outburst over her now ruined footwear.  
The hellish barking of distant hounds froze Pacifica in her stead. She exhaled a ragged breath, the thought of wolves descending upon her crept silently past her concern over a wounded Dipper. She shook her head of the blasphemy, Dipper was far more essential than her own well being, even if she had to overtake onehundred three-headed rabid beasts. How strange it felt confessing to herself her affection for the odd boy. Never had she placed a single material anatomy above herself in importance, quite foolish.  
As if in reply to her inattentive thoughts of warmth, the back door as if by itself was hurled open, reveal the strapping young object of her sentiment.  
Dipper lumbered forward, weary eyed, crumbling into Pacifica's purple-gloved clutches. Droopy eyes, chagrin with darkened circles, looked to Pacifica with perplextion at the angelic face before him.  
"D-Dipper!?" The blonde mumbled in abashment, feeling the weighted form of the warm-skinned boy rumpled over her arms.  
"Pacifica!?" The buckled boy followed suit with noticable enervation. "It really is you." He remarked in astonishment, uncoiling himself from her and finding the will to compose himself on his own two feet.  
"Wh-Why are you here?" Dipper inquired, strain prevelent in his speech.  
"Well." Pacifica replied "I came for-" she paused, the word "you" dying off before they reached her tongue, and then she cleared her throat. "I came to see my aunt, she's not well." The girl fibbed, wondering if in truth she even had an aunt, as she concocted her tale.  
"Good." Dipper meekly replied with a nod, it was absurd of him to think her visit had anything to do with him; but then he compared what he had said with what unfortunate news she had given. He shook his head, damning himself onehundred fold. He immediately contracted his statement, hoping he was acting quick enough to mend his foolishness without it being too late. He began fumbling over his words like a bumbling kook. "No! I mean-I…I'm sorry about your aunt, and-" The boy's tongue went dry at the touch of a sincere hand to his shoulder.  
"Dipper." Pacifica caught his attention with the whisper of his name. "We should get out of this cold rain. Come on." She urged, lightly tugging at his shirt collar.  
The boy was coaxed along by the tender pull of Pacifica before panicked arms nudged the girl aback, the protective form of Dipper shifting to guard her body.  
"Stay back." He hissed with a heightened sense of fear.  
Infernal growls and yips drowned the encircling pine nettles, a dozen satanic eyes, burning like embers, filled in between the cracks of the shrouded, low hung, foliage. Gnarled ears peeked out from the bush, pointed snouts lined with serrated teeth protruded forward. Large paws inched from the shadows in the trampled mud.  
An unearthly bark beguiled a ghastly scream from Pacifica, flooding the air with her audible horror.  
***  
Mable walked ahead of Stan, eagerness consuming her and depression weighing heavy on her great uncle. The two motioned around a bend and were faced with an undersized corridor, just but a doorway or two lined on either side of the wall. Upon locating the room that the nurse at the plastered old front desk had reffered her to, she hesitated, finger only centimeters from grazing the brass knob of the door.  
"Do it." The weak yet gruff tone of Stan commanded.  
In one swift motion Mable projected the door open, her vision abrubtly downcast, dismayed to find the room suggested to house her brother naught but deserted.  
Eardrums shattered at a terrific scream, stabbing into the flesh of the atmosphere. Stan's ears, though aged, shot of like a dog's, being pumped with blood so as to tune them to the origin of the debacle. He twisted to confront Mable on the unholy wail, but was impressed to find she had already bolted toward the sound of the incident.  
The episode in accord was well underway, as Dipper spread his arms, shield-like, serving to warden her from the encompassing ring of shaggy gray wolves.  
Out of the indigo ocean of shadow and night, a figure appeared in the shallow moonlight. The cloaked mass advanced, heels scrunching dampened mud, gesturing his arms out, culling the canines aggression as they submitted to his motion of retreat. The wolves barked to eachother, chattering like crows, before subsiding to the lanky shadow and distanced themselves until they were but a fire of flames burning like hell within the facade of dark pines.  
Dipper loosened his defensive stance, hostility dwindling, the approaching form had a nuturing air to it, almost hypnotic.  
Ferric fingers stubbornly dug into Dipper's shoulders. Pacifica pressed herself rigidly to the boy's back, using him as a safeguard.  
"Dipper, what is that thing?" Her frightened speech gave Dipper a breath of reality, re-alerting him to the situation at hand, as he cracked free from those entrancing chains the silhouette held attached to him.  
"I don't know." He muttered back.  
The shadow morphed into the moonlight, the wraith's features now fully visible. It stood in a black cloak, weaved of dark vapor, and though rain poured about the thing, it remained unmolested by icy drizzle. The creatures face was stone gray with the conistancy of paper, wrinkles and tendons drawn like wires distorting its expression into a menacing one. Purple lips, cracked like sand, were shadowed by a crooked nose bearing two slits, like a winged rat. White strands of hair were strung around the things sored scalp like yarn. A thick brow was taut downward, hung above deep sunk eyesockets, lifless save for a small flame kindling within each, glowering like hell-fire.  
Pacifica screamed upon perception of the leather-skinned skeleton. Spurring the beast to lurch forth with an animalistic growl. Dipper clutched his fists as he stood adamant in front of the blonde, who clung to him like the grave of a loved one deceased. Terrorized eyes argued against solidified body as they watched the shade swoop across the plain. They shut tightly once and upon opening once more the weathered old corpse was substituted by a tremendous black wolf, dark paws racing toward him with the same satanic coals in place of pupils.  
Dipper's muscles stiffened, being clubbed into the ground by the ballast of the wolf's substance as it pounced upon it's quarry.  
For an instant Pacifica stood unyielding, stone frame naught but able to regard the hell-hound struggle with the limp limbs of Dipper, gnashing at his jugular. Then her amygdala gland seized control, commanding her once unbending arms to strike the creature and so she did; beating the wolf with the metallic tip of her purple umbrella until it turned on her with the cock of its head. The charcoal hided beast lunged for Pacifica, bouncing from Dipper's sunken chest. The blonde haired girl lurched back from the savage animal, stumbling aback only to retch at long twisted fingernails clawed into her wrist. Her gaze lifted, finding the hound had transformed itself again into the gray-skinned boney cadaver. Coarse lips were reined back, unsheathing ivory incisors, several inches in length. Pacifica feverishly struggled in the monster's steel grip, and then to her astonishment she felt herself floundering backwards into thick earthy muck. She glanced over to view her valorous savior slamming his full bodily force into the lank carcass, rescuing her from a fanged death.  
The deathly hellion twirled about with a skull-splitting screech, shadow-spun cloth slicing the air like a knife. A furry palm waved above Dipper's forehead, his brain cleaved in two as a demonic instrument blared in his head.  
"Fall." The forked tongue sounded in his shredded eardrum, dizzying his concentration, numbing his stressed nerves until the boy felt his knees buck and slide into the mud, face splashing into a shallow puddle.  
Pacifica shrilled in horror as hairy fingers returned to grip her torso like iron, grain lips burrowed into her neck. She found her body unobediant to her brain's desire to squirm, to take flight. Needlike fixtures grazed her milky skin, the sheerness of grim dread filled Pacifica's veins with the faculty of death.  
The smack of a wooden door being violently swung against a stone wall furnished to divert the lacerating fangs from submerging themselves in Pacifica's blood.  
A high pitched shriek emanated, deeply buried in Mable's throat, at view of the wicked figure hunched over a horrified Pacifica.  
The bone-caged demon whirred about to face the brunette positioned aghast at the doorway, allowing the blonde to sink into the mud without apprehension.  
Floundering back in the muck and grime, envigored with desperation to escape her satanic plight, Pacifica lifted her head from the browning mud, earthy liquid dripping from her blonde locks. Her eyes caught sight of Mabel's own, the figure of the monster's distraction. Furtively using the godsent oppurtunity, Pacifica managed to bring her to crippled legs, limping urgently to the downed Dipper, as the hellish demon focused his deathly eyes on the doomed Mabel.  
Weakened arms, encased in the slime of soil, took hold of Dipper's underarms, straining weary muscles to drag the body of the unconscious boy across the twisted grass. Knife stabs of pain pierced Pacifica's flesh; but her drive of passion, flood of adrenalin, numbed her torturing agony, allowing her to heave the limp Dipper to pavement.  
Black limoscene sped up to raggedly mutilated children, backdoor flying open, driver frantic with fright, he would have taken off already if not for two helpless children in the way of carnage.  
Pacifica flopped into the Italian leather seats all too gratefully, she'd be sure to give her driver a promotion of some sort later. The blood of the earth scattered all over the million-dollar limo, how would she ever explain to her parents? That didn't matter one bit now though, all that was relevant was Dipper, him and only him.  
Lifting the disabled form of the hellfire stunned youth into her ornate vehicle, Pacifica held the pallidly tender skin of Dipper close to her grime spitten face, inhaling his piney smell, reveling in his tranquil warmth, a pacifying sense of security. She had hardly noticed that the limoscene driver had smashed the gas, racing down the road like a feral beast, not daring to turn and question, eyes completely focused forward, one thought, escape.  
Pacifica held Dipper close to her bosom, stroking motherly fingers through his ruffled hair. He was going to wake up. He had to wake up. He was Dipper, her Dipper. Then an uncomforting thought beamed into Pacifica's mind as she stared helplessly through the transparent window. Mabel…the one she'd left behind. The one she left to die. But that didn't matter either did it; just Dipper…only Dipper.


End file.
